


,JU/ Jiudi^ f( oIufTtA 







THE 
MODERN STANDARD DRAMA. 

LIBRARY EDITION 

(ffbiteb b^ €pt0 Sargent. 

The series will be composed principally of such modern dramas of 
celebrity as, in consequence of the restrictions of copyright in Eng- 
land, have not yet appeared in any collection of specimens of the 
British drama. The dramatic chef-d'ceuvres of Talfourd, Croly, Shell, 
Maturin, Bulwer, Tobin, Knowles, Morton, D'Israeli, Leigh Hunt, Mil- 
man, Jerrold, and others, certainly possess that degree of interest, that 
no well-selected library should be without them ; and yet few of these 
works have ever been presented to the American public in a shape 
suitable for preservation. 

It is proposed in the present series to remedy this deficiency. Every 
number will consist of an entire drama, of a character to please in the 
closet as well as on the stage, and accompanied by introductory remarks, 
historical and critical. 

The stage-marks and directions, including a description of the costumes 
of the characters, will be given ; but in no instance will there be a depar- 
ture from the text of the author. The series will thus not only fee 
serviceable to the actor, but satisfactory to the general reader. 

The typography of the series will be new, large and uniform ; and 
every number, comprising a distinct and entire work in itself, will be 
sold at the low price of 12 1-2 cents. 

The scries will appear periodically on the first and fifteenth of every 
month, and may be had of the principal periodical agents and booksellers 
in the United States. 

JAMES MOWATT & CO., 

Publishers, 174 Broadway, N. Y. 



No. III. 

THE MODERN STANDARD DRAMA. 

EDITED BY EPES SARGENT, 

Author of " Velasco, a Tragedy," &c. 



THE 

LADY OF LYOIS; 

OS, 

LOVE AND PRIDE. 



!3l |)laa. 



IN FIVE ACTS. 



BY SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, 



FROM THE AUTHOR'S LATEST EDITION. 



WITH THE STAGE DIRECTIONS, COSTUMES, ETC. 



NEW- YORK : 

PUBLISHED BY JAMES MOWATT & CO. 

174 Broadway. 
SOLD BY ALL PERIODICAL AGENTS AND BOOKSELLERS. 



1844.xO^, ,^^„„,.5V 



-A, 



EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION. 

The failure of Mr. Bulwer's tragedy of the Duchess de 
la Valliere, his first dramatic production, instead of dis- 
couraging him from again venturing upon this perilous 
species of composition, seems to have inspired him with 
the determination of proving to the public, that he could 
write a good acting dvaiiia, whatever the critics might say- 
to the contrary. He tried again ; and produced the "Lady 
of Lyons." This beautiful play is founded on a well- 
known French tale, entitled, " The Bellows-Mender," in 
which the main incidents of the plot may be found. Bulwer 
seems to have been less indebted, however, to this source 
for his materials, than Shakspeare was to the nouveleites of 
his day, for many of his noblest tragedies. 

The " Lady of Lyons " was produced anonymously at 
Covent Garden Theatre, the early part of February, 
1838~that establishment being then under the manage- 
ment of Mr. Macready. "The studious concealment of 
the author's name," says a journal of the day, " was doubt- 
less intended to obviate the influence of the personal pre- 
judice that Mr. Bulwer and his ftiends assigned as the 
motive of the opposition to his first dramatic production— 
the now forgotten Duchess de la ValUerer The intention 
of the author, in producing the play anonymously, seems 
rather to have been to entrap the critics, who had assailed 
him as incompetent to write for the stage, into praising 
his new work. If this was his plan, it eminently suc- 
ceeded. Those writers who had most vehemently con- 
demned the unfortunate "Duchess," were loudest in 
praise of the " Lady of Lyons," and its unknown author 



VI 



But we are far from thinking that their sincerity ought to 
be impugned on this account. The " Duchess" failed as 
decidedly upon the American stage as at Covent Garden. 
The "Lady of Lyons" deservedly met with a far dif- 
ferent fate both in England and the United States. In 
London, a portion of its great success was attributed to the 
masterly actiug of Macready in the character of the hero ; 
but its repeated production, under less auspicious circum- 
stances, has proved that it contains within itself the quali- 
ties, which must always render it popular in the represen- 
tation. Nor will it be found less pleasing in the closet. 
It is a drama "of that mixed style, partaking of the ele- 
ments both of tragedy and comedy, that, in default of a 
more definite appellation is termed, j^ar exccUc?icc, a j^^oy-' 
The intermingling of pathos and humour, of sentiment and 
fun, give to it a variety, which, in connection with the deep 
interest of the plot, is undoubtedly one of the chief consti- 
tuents of its success. 

At the Park Theatre, Miss Ellen Tree in Pauline, 
and Mr. FoiTest in Claude Melnotte, introduced this play 
to an American audience in the most effective and ad- 
mirable manner. More recently, we have had an oppor- 
tunity of witnessing the original Claude, Mr. Macready, 
who in that part, as well as in all others which he attempts, 
is ever the perfect artist and the consummate actor. 



PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. 



BEAUSEANT, 

GLAVIS, 

COLONEL DAMAS, 

MONS. DESCHAPPELLES, 

LANDLORD, 

GASPAR, 

CLAUDE MELNOTTE, 

FIRST OFFICER, 

SECOND OFFICERj 

THIRD OFFICER, 



NOTARY, 

SERVANT, TO DESCHAPi 

SERVANT, AT THE INN. 

MAD, DESCHAPPELLES, 

PAULINE, 

WIDOW MELNOTTE^ 

JANET, 

MARIAN. 



COSTUMES. 

BEAUSEANT —First dress : Frock coat trimmed with black fur ; black 
tight pants ; Hessian boots. Second dress : Black frock coat j white vest 5 
white tight pants ; Hessian boots ; modern hat. 

GLAVIS —First dress : Blue frock coat, undress mUitary ; black tight 
pants • Hessian boots ; modern hat. Second dress : Black body coat ; 
white vest ; white pants, tight ; Hessian boots, &c. 

COLONEL DAMAS — First dress : Blue uniform coat, trimmed with 
wliite facings, and silver lace j white tight military boots ; chapeau and 
tri-coloured cockade. Second dress : Blue coat trimmed with gold, epau- 
lettes, and elegant military chapeau and plume ; white sash* 

MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES.— Black velvet suit, square cut- 

LANDLORD.— Red coat ; striped French vest and breeches. 

CASPAR.— Blue smock frock; blue vest ; breeches and gaiters 

CLAUDE MELNOTTE —First dress : Blue smocked frock, worked ; 
blue tights. Second dress : Rich green shirt, spangled, large sleeves ; 
white silk tights ; and cap. Third dress : (Same as tirst.) Fourth dress : 
Dark blue frockcoat trimmed with light blue facings, and buttons ; blue 
military pantaloons, hght blue stripes on sides ; chapeau and tri-coloured 
cockade. 

OFFICERS.— Dark blue coats, turned up with light blue and silver ; 
epaulettes ; white tights ; mUitary boots ; chapeau and tri-coloured cock- 
ades. 

SERVANT— [To Deschappelles.] Handsome livery. 

SERVANT— [^? the Inn.] Peasant dress. 

MADAME DESCHAPPELLES.— Rich pink dress; straw hat and 
feathers. 

PAULINE.— Pir«f dress : Pink satin, neatly trimmed, and train. Sec- 
ond d7-ess : Plain white silk dress. 

WIDOW.— Swiss peasant dress. 

JANET.— Peasant dress. 

MARIAN.— White muslin dress. 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 



ACT I. 



Scene I. — A large room in the house of M. Deschappel- 
LES at Lyons. Pauline reclining on a sofa, R ; Marian, 
her Maid, fanning her, r. — Flowers and notes on a table he- 
side the sofa. Madame Deschappelles, sealed, c. — The 
Gardens are seen from the open window. 

Madame D. Marian, put that rose a little more to the 
left. — (Marian alters the j^osition of a rose in Pauline's 
hair.) Ah, so ! — that improves the air, — the tournure, — the 
jene sqaisquoi! — You are certainly very handsome, child ! 
— quite my style ! — I don't wonder that you make such a 
sensation ! — Old, young, rich, and poor, do homage to the 
Beauty of Lyons ! — Ah ! we live again in our children, — 
especially when they have our eyes and complexion ! 

Pauline (languidly). Dear mother, you spoil your Pau- 
line ! — (aside.) I wish I knew who sent me these flowers ! 

Madame Dcschap. No, child ! — if I praise you, it is only 
to inspire you with a proper ambition. — You are born to 
make a great marriage. Beauty is valuable or worthless 
according as you invest the property to the best advantage. 
— Marian, go and order the carriage. \Fxit Marian, c. l. 

Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these 
beautiful flowers \ How sweet they are ! 

Enter Servant, c. l. 

Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, madame. 



10 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act I. 

Madame Dcschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is ano- 
ther offer ! — I know it is ! — Your father should engage an 
additional clerk to keep the account-book of your con- 
quests. 

Enter Beauseant, l. c. 

Beauseant. Ah, ladies, how fortunate I am to find you at 
home ! — f aside. J How lovely she looks ! — It is a great sa- 
crifice I make marrying into a family in trade ! — they will 
be eternally grateful ! — (aloud.) Madam, you will permit 
me a word with your charming daughter. — (approaches 
Pauline, who rises disdainfully.) — Mademoiselle, I have 
ventured to wait upon you, in a hope that you must long 
since have divined. Last night, when you outshone all the 
beauty of Lyons, you completed your conquest over me ! 
You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any estate 
in the Province, — you know that, but for the Revolution, 
which has defrauded me of my titles, I should be noble. 
May I, then, ti'ust that you will not reject my alliance % I 
offer you my hand and heart. 

Pauline (aside). He has the air of a man who confers a 
favour, {aloud.) Sir, you are very condescending — I thank 
you humbly ; but being duly sensible of my own demer- 
its, you must allow me to decline the honour you propose. 

[ Curtesies and twns aivay. 

Beauseant. Decline ! impossible ! — you are not serious ! 
— Madame, suffer me to appeal to you. I am a suitor for 
your daughter's hand — the settlements shall be worthy 
her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. Deschap- 
pelles 1 

Madame Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in 
the domestic airangements, — you are very obliging. If 
you were still a Marquis, or if my daughter were intend- 
ed to marry a commoner, — why, perhaps, we might give 
you the preference. 

Beauseant. A commoner, — we are all commoners in 
France now. 

Madame Deschap. In France, yes ; but there is a nobil- 
ity still left in the other countries in Europe. We are 
quite aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt that » 
you will find some lady more suitable to your pretensions. 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 11 

We shall be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, 
M. Beauseant 1 — My dear child, the carnage will be here 
presently. 

Beaicseant. Say no more, Madam ! — say no more ! — 
{aside.) Refused ! and by a merchant's daughter ! — refus- 
ed ! It will be all over Lyons before sunset ! — I will go and 
bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, and turn 
woman-hater. Refused ! they ought to be sent to a mad- 
house ! — Ladies, 1 have the honour to wish you a very good 
morning. [Exit Beauseant, c. l. 

Madame Deschap. How forward these men are ! — I 
think, child, we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however 
inexperienced, knows how to accept an offer, but it re- 
quires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper 
condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school 
with the dancing-master ! 

Enter Damas, c. l. 



Damas. Good moraing, cousin Deschappelles. — "Well, 
' Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball ] — Soma- 
I ny triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sigh- 
ed most piteously when you departed ; but that might be 
the effect of the supper. 

Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed ! 

Madame Deschap. M. Glavis ! — as if my daughter would 
think of M. Glavis ! 

Davias. Hey-dey ! — why not ] — His father left him a 
very pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, 
cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to 
M. Beauseant — his father was a Marquis before the Revo- 
lution. 

Pauline. M. Beauseant ! — Cousin, you delight in tor- 
menting me ! 

Madame Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline ! — Cousin 
Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling, — there is a 
certain indelicacy in all your ideas. — M. Beauseant knows 
already that he is no match for my daughter ! 

Damas. Pooh ! pooh ! one would think you intended 
your daughter to many a prince ! 

Madame Deschap. Well, and if I did ] — what then ] — 
Many a foreign prince — 



12 THE LADX ; OF LYONS. fAcT I. 

• 7* 

Damas {interrupting her). Foreign prince ! — foreign fid- 
dlestick ! — you ought to be ashamed f)f such nonsense at 
your time of life. 

Madame Deschap. My time of life ! — That is an expres- 
sion never applied to any lady, till she is sixty -nine and 
three-quarters ; and only then by the clergyman of the 
parish. , 

Enter Servant, c. l. 

Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. 

[Exit Servant, c. l. 

Madame Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet — 
you really have a very thorough-bred air — not at all like 
your poor father. — [fondli/.) Ah, you little coquette ! 
when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure 
sign that she takes after her mcjthcr ! 

Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas — and a better hu- 
mour to you — {going hack to the tabic and taking thejloivers.) 
XV^ho could have sent me these flowers 1 

[Exeunt Pauline and Madame Deschappelles. 

Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had 
not been turned. I fear she is now become incorrigible ! 
Zf)unds, what a lucky fellow I am, to be still a bachelor ! 
They may talk of the devotion of the sex — but tlie most 
faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love — with 
herself ! [Exit, c. l. 

Scene II. — The exterior of a small Village Inn — sign 
the Golden Lion — a few leagues from Lyons, ivhich is seen at 
a distance. 

Bcauscant, [loithout, r.) Yes, you may bait the horses ; 
we shall rest here an hour. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis, r, 

Glavis. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have 
promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau 
— hat I am quite at your mercy for my entertainment — 
and yet you are as silent and gloomy as a mute at a fune- 
ral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. 

Beauseant. Beai' with me. — The fact is, that I am mis- 
erable ! 



UgcENEJI.] . THE LAD^OF LYONS. 13 

Glavis. You — the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons % 

Beausecmt. It is because I am a bachelor that I am mis- 
erable. — Thou knowest Pauline — the only daughter of the 
rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles 1 

Glavis. Know her ! — Who does not ? — as pretty as Ve- 
nus and as proud as Juno. 

Bcauscant. Her taste is worse than her pride — {draivivig 
himself up.) Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me 1 

Glavis (aside). So she has me ! — very consoling ! in all 
cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's disap- 
pointment draws out the pain, and allays the irritation.— « 
(Aloud.) Refused you ! and wherefore % 

Bcauscant. I know not, unless it be because the Revolu- 
tion swept away my father's title of marquis-— and she will 
not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no noblemen 
left in France, as we are all citizens, and equals, she can 
only hope, that, in spite of the war, some English Milord 
or German count will risk his life by coming to Lyons and 
making her my lady. Refused me, and with scorn ! — By 
heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely — I'm in a perfect fever 
of mortification and rage. — Refused me, indeed! 

Glacis. Be comforted, my dear fellow — I will tell you 
a secret. For the same reason, she refused me ! 

Bcauscant. You ! — that's a very different matter ; but 
give me your hand, Glavis — we'll think of some plan to 
humble her. By Jove, I should like to see her married to 
a strolling player ! 

Enter Landlord and his T>\VQm:ER,from the Inn, l. d. ?W f. 

Landlord. Your servant, citizen Beauseant — servant, 
Sir. Perhaps you will take dinner before you j)roceed to 
your chateau ; our larder is most plentifully supplied. 

Beauseant. I have no appetite, 

Glavis. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty 
stomach. Come, landlord, let's see your bill. What have 
you got % [ Takes and looks over hill of fare. Shout ivith- 
out] " Long live the Prince !— Long live the Prince !'* 

Bcauscant. The Prince ! — what Prince is that 1 I thought 
we had no princes left in Fro^ce. 

Landloi'd. Ha, ha ! the ]" Iways call him Prince. He 
B 



14 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Ac* I. 

has just won the prize in a shooting-match, and they are ta- 
king him home in triumph. 

Bcauseant. Him ! and who's Mr. Him 1 

Landlord. Who should he be but the pride of the vil- 
lage, Claude Melnotte 1 — of course you have heard of 
Claude Melnotte. 

Glavis {giving hack the hill of fare). Never had that ho- 
nour. Soup — ragout of hare — roast chicken, and in short, 
all you have ! 

Beauseant. The son of old Melnotte the gardener? 

Landlord. Exactly so — a wonderful young man ! 

Bcauseant. How wonderful ? — are his cabbages better 
than other people's % 

Landlord. Nay, he doesn't garden any more ; his father 
left him well off. He's only a genus. 

Glavis, A what 1 

Landlord. A genus !— a man who can do every thing in 
life, except any-thing that's useful ; — that's a genus. 

Bcauseant. You raise my curiosity — proceed. 

Landlord. Well then, about four years ago, old Melnotte 
died, and left his son well to do in the world. We then 
all observed that a great change came over young Claude ; 
he took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor from 
Lyons, who had so much in his head that he was forced to 
wear a great full-bottom wig to cover it. Then he took a 
fencing-master, and a dancing-master, and a music master, 
and then he learned to paint; and at last it was said, that 
young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a painter. 
The lads laughed at him at first ; l)ut he is a stout fellow, 
is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to 
laugh the wrong side of their mouths ; and now all the boys 
swear by him, and all the girls pray for him. 

Beauseant. A promising youth, certainly ! And why do 
they call him prince ] 

Layidlord. Partly because he is at the head of them all, 
and partly because he has such a proud way v/ith him, and 
wears such fine clothes — and in short — looks like a prince. 

Beauseant. And what could have turned the foolish fel- 
low's brain ? The Revolution, I suppose % 

Landlord. Yes — the Revolution that turns us all topsy 
turvy — the revolution of Love. 



SckiheII.] the lady OF LYONS. 16 

Bcatiseant. Romantic young Corydon ! And with whom 
is he in love ] 

Landlord. Why — but it is a secret, gentlemen. 

Beauseant. Oh ! certainly. 

Landlord. Why, then, T hear from his mother, good 
soul ! that it is no less a person than the beauty of Lyons, 
Pauline Deschappelles. 

Beauseant and Glavis. Ha ! ha ! capital I 

Landlord. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand 
here. 

Beauseant. And what does the beauty of Lyons say to 
his suit ] 

Landlord. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to 
look at him, though when he was a boy he worked in her 
father's garden. 

Beauseant. Are you sure of that ] 

Landlord. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not 
know him by sight. 

Beauseant [taking Glavis aside). I have hit it — I have 
hit it ; — here is our revenge ! Here is a prince for our 
haughty damsel. Do you take me % 

Glavis. Deuce take me if I do ! 

Beauseant. Blockhead ! — it's as clear as a map. What 
if we could make this elegant clown pass himself off as a 
foreign prince % lend him money, clothes, equipage for the 
purpose % — make him propose to Pauline ] — marry Pau- 
line \ Would it not be delicious % 

Glavis. Ha ! ha ! — Excellent ! But how shall we sup- 
port the necessary expenses of his highness 1 

Beauseant. Pshaw ! Revenge is worth a much larger 
sacrifice than a few hundred louis ; as for details, my valet 
is the truest fellow in the world, and we shall have the ap- 
pointment of his highness's establishment. Let's go to him 
at once, and see if he be really this Admirable Crichton. 

Glavis. With all my heart, — but the dinner ] 

Beauseant. Always thinking of dinner ! Hark ye, land- 
lord, how far is it to young Melnotte's cottage % I should 
like to see such a prodigy. 

Landlord. Turn down the lane, then strike across the 
common, and you will see his mother's cottage. 

Beauseant, True, he lives with his mother. — (aside.) We 



16 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act I. 

will not trust to an old. woman's discretion ; better send 
for him hither. I'll just step in and write him a note. 
Come, Glavis. 

Glavis. Yes, — Beauseant, Glavis and Co. manufactu- 
rers of princes, wholesale and retail, — an uncommonly gen- 
teel line of business. But why so gi'ave ] 

Beauseant. You think only of the sport — I of the re- 
venge. [Exeunt within the Inn, d. m p. 



Scene III. — T/ie2nte?-ior of Melnotte's Cottage ; flow- 
ers placed here and there ; a guitar on an oaken table, with a 
'portfolio, S)fc. ; a picture on an easel, covered hy a curtain ; 
fencing foils crossed over the mantel-piece ; an attempt at re- 
finement in spite of the homeliness of the furniture, bfc; a stair- 
case to the right conducts to the upper story. 

(Shout without, R. V. E.) "Long live Claude Melnotte ! 
Long live the Prince !" 

Widoio Melnotte. Hark ! — there's my dear son ; cariied 
off the prize, I'm sure ; and now he'll want to treat them 
all. 

Claude Melnotte {opening the door). AVhat, you wont 
come in, my friends ! Well, well, there's a trifle to make 
merry elsewhere. Good day to you all,— good day !- — 
(Shout). " Hurrah ! Long live prince Claude !" 

Enter Claude Melnotte, l, D.in f. with a rife in his hand. 

Melnotte, Give me joy, dear mother ! I've won the prize ! 
never missed one shot ! Is it not handsome, this gun 1 

Widow. Humph ! Well, what is it worth, Claude ] 

Melnotte. Worth ! What is a ribbon worth to a soldier 1 
Worth— everything ! Glory is priceless ! 

Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah ! Claude, 
Claude ! castles in the air cost a vast deal to keep up ! 
How is all this to end 1 What good does it do thee to leaiTi 
Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and fence 
and dance, and paint pictures ] all very fine ; but what 
does it bring in ] 

Melnotte. Wealth ! wealth, my mother ! — wealth to the 
mind— wealth to the heart — high thoughts— bright dreams 



Scene III.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 17 

— the hope of fame — the ambition to be worthier to love 
PauHne. 

Widow. My poor son ! — the young lady will never think 
of thee. 

Melnotte. Do the stars think of us ? Yet if the prisoner 
see them shine in his dungeon, would'st thou bid him turn 
away from their lustre 1 Even from this low cell, poverty, 
— I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my chains. (Goes to 
the picture and draws aside the curtain). See, this is her 
image — painted from memory. — Oh, how the canvass 
wrongs her ! {takes up the brush and throws it aside.) I shall 
never be a painter. I can paint no likeness but one, and 
that is above all art. I would turn soldier — France needs 
soldiers ! But to leave the air that Pauline breathes ! 
What is the hour, — so late ! I will tell thee a secret, mo- 
ther. Thou knowest not that for the last six weeks I have 
sent every day the rarest flowers to Pauline ; she wears them. 
I have seen them on her breast. Ah ! and then the whole 
universe seemed filled with odours ! I have now grown 
more bold — I have poured my worship into poetry — I have 
sent my verses to Pauline — I have signed them with my 
own name. My messenger ought to be back by this time : 
I bade him wait for an answer. 

Widow. And what answer do you expect, Claude ] 

Melnotte. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the 
poor troubadour ; — " Let me see the Oracle that can tell 
nations I am beautiful !" She will admit me. I shall hear 
her speak — I shall meet her eyes — I shall read upon her 
cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves into 
blushes. Then, then, oh, then, — she may forget that I am 
the peasant's son ! 

Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude ! 

Melnotte. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is 
the true rank. She will give me a badge — a flower — a 
glove ! Oh, rapture ! I shall join the armies of the Re- 
public — I shall rise — I shall wnn a name that beauty will 
not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to say to 
her — " See how love does not level the proud, but raise 
the humble !" Oh, how my heart swells within me! — Oh, 
what glorious Prophets of the Future are Youth and Hope ! 

[Knock at the door d. in p. 



18 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act I. 

Widow, Come in. 

Enter Gaspar, d. iii f. 

Melnotte. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the 
letter 1 Why do you turn away, man ? where is the 
letter % (Gaspar gives him one.) This ! — This is mine, 
the one I entrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it 1 

Gaspar. Yes, I left it. 

Melnotte. My own verses returned to me ! Nothing 
elsel 

Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger 
was honoured. For thy sake, Melnotte, — I have borne 
that which no Frenchman can bear without disgrace. 

Melnotte. Disgrace, Gaspar ! Disgrace % 

Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it 
from lackey to lackey till it reached the lady it was meant 
for. 

Melnotte. It reached her, then ; — are you sure of that ] 
It reached her, — well, well ! 

Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with 
blows. Dost hear, Melnotte % with blows ! Death ! are 
we slaves still, that we are to be thus dealt with, we pea- 
sants % 

Melnotte. With blows ] No, Gas2:)ar, no ; not blows ] 

Gaspar. I could show thee the marks, if it were not so 
deep a shame to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy 
letter into the mire, swore that his lady and her mother 
never were so insulted. What could thy letter contain, 
Claude % 

Melnotte {looking over the letter). Not a line that a serf 
might not have written to an empress. No, not one ! 

Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave 
me, if thou wilt pass that way. Shall we endure this, 
Claude % 

Melnotte {?.vringi?ig Gaspar's hand). Forgive me, the 
fault was mine, I have brought this on thee } I will not 
forget it ; thou shalt be avenged ! The heartless insolence ! 

Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte ; think not of me ; I 
would go through fire and water to serve thee ; but — a 
blow ! It is not the bruise that galls, — it is the blush, 
Melnotte ! 



Scene III.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 19 

Mclnotte. Say, what message ] How insulted 1 — Where- 
fore 1 — What the offence % 

Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the 
^laoi^hter of the rich merchant 1 

Mdnottc. Wein 

Gaspar. Are you not a peasant — a gardener's son % — 
that was the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a 
French citizen, blows ! \EiXit d. in f. 

Wicloiv, Now you are cured, Claude ! 

Mclnotte {tearing the letter). So do I scatter her image^ 
to the winds — I will stop her in the open streets — I will 
insult her — I will beat her menial ruffians — I will — {turns 
suddenly to Widow). Mother, am I hump-backed — de- 
formed — hideous. 

Widow. You ! 

Melnotte. A coward — a thief — a liar % 

Widow. You ! 

Mclnotte. Or a dull fool — a vain, drivelling, brainless 
idiot % 

Widow. No, no. 

Melnotte. What am I then — worse than all these % 
Why, I am a peasant ! Wliat has a peasant to do with 
love ] Vain Revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the 
great % Oh, that we, — we the hewers of wood and draw- 
ers of water, had been swept away, so that the proud 
might learn what the world would be without us ! — 

\K.norJx, at the d. in f. 

, Enter Servant from the Inn, d. in f. 

' Servant. A. letter for Citizen Melnotte. 
j Melnotte. A letter ! from her, perhaps — who sent thee ? 
I Servant (r.) Who 1 Monsieur — I mean Citizen Beau- 
I seant, who stops to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to 
, his chateau. 

I Melnotte. Beauseant !■ — [reads.) ** Young man, I know 
I thy secret-^-thou lovest above thy station. If thou hast 
j wit, courage and discretion, I can secure to thee the reali- 
j zation of thy most sanguine hopes ; and the sole condition 
j I ask in return is, that thou shalt be steadfast to thine own 
\ ends, I shall demand from thee a solemn oath to marry 
j her whom thou lovest ; to bear her to thine home on thy 



20 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act II. 

wedding night. I am serious — if thou wouldst learn more, 
lose not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to 
thy friend and patron, " Charles Beauseant." 

Mclnottc. Can I believe my eyes ] Are our own pas- 
sions the sorcerers that raise up for us spirits of good or 
evil 1 I will go instantly. [Exit Servant d. in f. 

Widow. What is this, Claude ] 

Mclnottc. " Marry her whom thou lovest " — " bear her 
to thine own home," — O, revenge and love ! which of you 
Jis the stronger 1 — (gazing on the incturc^ Sweet face, 
thou smilest on me from the canvass ; weak fool that I am, 
do I then love her still ] No, it is the vision of my own ro- 
mance that I have worshipped ; it is the reality, to which I 
bring scorn for scorn. — Adieu, mother ; I will return anon. 
My brain reels — the earth swims before me. — {Looking 
again at the letter.) No, it is not mockery ; I do not dream ! 

[Exit D. in F. 

END OF ACT 1. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — The Gardens of M. Deschappelles' Houses 

at Lyons — the House seen at the back of the Stage. 

Enter Beauseant and GhWisfrom the House, l. s. e. 

Beauseant. Well, what think you of my plot 1 Has it 
not succeeded to a miracle ? The instant that 1 introduced 
his Highness, the Prince of Como, to the pompous mother 
and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them ; he 
came — he saw — he conquered ; and, though it is not many 
days since he arrived, they have already promised him the 
hand of Pauline. 

Glavis. It is lucky, though, that you told them his High- 
ness travelled incognito, for fear the directory (who are not 
very fond of princes) should lay him by the heels : for he 



Scene I.] 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 21 



has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and scatters our 
gold about with as much coolness as if he were watering 
his own flower-pots. 

Bcauseant. True, he is damnably extravagant ; I think 
the sly dog does it out of malice. However, it must be 
owned that he reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and 
makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes with my dia- 
mond snuft-box. 

Glavis. And my diamond ring ! But do you think that 
he will be firm to the last ? I fancy I see symptoms of re- 
lenting : he will never keep up his rank, if he once let out 
his conscience. 

Beauseant. His oath binds him ; he cannot retreat with- 
out being forsworn, and those low fellows are always super- 
stitious ! But, as it is, I tremble lest he be discovered ; that 
blufl' Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles' cousin) evi- 
dently suspects him ; we must make haste and conclude 
the farce ; I have thought of a plan to end it this very day. 

Glavis. This very day ! Poor Pauline ! her dream will 
be soon over. 

Beauseant. Yes, this day they shall be married ; this 
evening, according to his oath, he shall carry his bride to the 
Golden Lion, and then pomp, equipage, retinue, and title, 
all shall vanish at once ; and her Highness the Princess 
shall find that she has refused the son of a Marquis, to mar- 
ry the son of a gardener. — Oh, Pauline ! once loved, now 
hated, yet still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the cup 
to the dregs, — thou shalt know what it is to be humbled ! 

Enter, from the Rouse, l. s. e., Melnotte as the Prince of 

Coino, leading in Pauline; Madame Deschappelles 

fanning herself ; and Colonel Damas. 

BeausExInt and Glavis how resj^ectfidly. Pauline and 
Melnotte tvalk ajmrt. 

Madame Deschap. Good morning, gentlemen; really I 
am so fatigued with laughter, the dear Prince is so enter- 
taining. What wit he has ! any one might see that he has 
spent his whole life in courts. 

Damas. And what the deuce do you know about courts, 
cousin Deschappelles ] You women regard men just as 



22 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act II 

you buy books — you never care what Is in them, but how 
they are bound and lettered. 'Sdeath, I dont think you 
would even look at your bible, if it had not a title to it. 

Madame Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas! 
— quite the manners of a barrack — you don't deserve to 
be one of our family ; really we must drop your acquaint- 
ance when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any rela- 
tions that would discredit my future son-in-law, the Prince 
of Como. 

Melnottc (advancing). These are beautiful gardens, Ma- 
dame. (Beauseant and Glavis retire.) — Who planned 
them ] 

Madame Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your 
Highness — an honest man who knew his station. I can't 
say as much for his son — a presuming fellow, who — ha ! 
ha ! — actually wrote verses — such doggerel ! — to my daugh- 
ter, 

Pauline. Yes — how you would have laughed at them, 
Prince — you who write such beautiful verses ! 

Melnotte. This Melnotte must be a monstrous impudent 
person ! 

Damas. Is he good-looking ? 

Madame Deschajy. I never notice such canaille — an ug- 
ly, mean-looking clown, if I remember right. 

Damas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderful- 
ly like his Highness. 

Melnotte (taking snuff). You are complimentary. 

Madeline Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas ! — like the 
Prince, indeed. 

Pauline. Like you ! Ah, mother, like our beautiful 
Prince ! I'll never speak to you again, cousin Damas. 

Melnotte (aside). Humph ! — rank is a great beautifier ! 
I never passed for an Apollo while I was a peasant ; if I 
am so handsome as a prince, what should I be as an em- 
peror? — (aloud,) Monsieur Beauseant, \^11 you honour 
me ] [ Offers snuff. 

Beauseant. No, your Highness, I have no small vices. 

Melnotte. Nay, if it were a vice you'd be sure to have 
it. Monsieur Beauseant. 

Mada?ne Deschap. Ha ! ha ! — how very severe ! — what 
wit! 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 23 

Bcauseant (in a rage and aside). Curse his impertinence ! 

Mada?ne Dcschap. What a superb snufF-box ! 

Pauline. And what a beautiful ring ! 

Mclnottc. You Hke the box — a trifle — interesting per- 
haps from associations — a present from Louis XIV. to my 
great-great-grandmother. Honour me by accepting it. 

Bcauseant [jylii^cking him by the sleeve). How ! — what 
the devil ! My box ! — are you mad ! It is worth five hun- 
dred louis. 

Mclnottc {imheeding hmi and turning to Pauline). And 
you like this ring ! Ah, it has indeed a lustre since your 
eyes have shone on it (placing it on her finger). Hence- 
forth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the Ring. 

Glavis ( pulling him ) . Stay, stay — what are you about ] 
My maiden aunt's legacy — a diamond of the first water. 
You shall be hanged for swindling, sir. 

Mclnottc (jyretending not to hear). It is curious, this ring : 
it is tlie one with which my grandfather, the Doge of Ve- 
nice, married the Adriatic ! 

[Madame and Pauline examine the ring. 

Mclnottc f^to Beauseant and Glavis^, Fie, gentlemen, 
princes must be generous ! — [turns to Damas, ivho watches 
them closely). These kind friends have my interest so 
much at heart, that they are as careful of my property as 
if it were their ov.ii. 

Bcauseant and Glavis (confusedly^ Ha ! ha ! — very good 
joke that ! 

\^Aj)2)car to remonstrate loith Melnotte in duinh show. 

Damas. What's all that whispering % I am sure there is 
some juggle here : hang me, if I think he is an Italian, af- 
ter all. 'Gad ! I'll try him. Ser\'itore umillissimo, Ex- 
cellenza.* 

Melnotte. Hum — what does he mean, I wonder % 
Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.f 
Melnotte. Hem — hem ! 

Damas. Fa bel tempo — che si dice di nuovo %\ 
Melnotte. Well, Sir, what's all that gibberish ] 



* Your Excellency's most humble servant, 
t I am glad to see you iu good health. 
X Fine v/eather. What news is there ? 



^4 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act II. 

Damas. Oh, oh ! — only Italian, your Highness ! — The 
Prince of Como does not understand his own language ! 

Mehiotte. Not as you pronounce it : who the deuce 
could 1 

Madame DescJiap. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas, never pre- 
tend to what you don't know. 

Pauline. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas ; you speak Italian, 
indeed ! [Malxcs a mocking gesture at him. 

Bea.useant (to Gtlavis). Clever dog ! — how ready ! 

Glavis. Ready, yes ; with my diamond ring! — Damn his 
readiness ! 

Damas. Laugh at me ! — laugh at a colonel in the French 
army ! — The fellow 's an impostor ; I know he is. I'll see 
if he understands fighting as well as he does Italian — 
{Goes lip to him, and aside). Sir, you are a jackanapes ! — 
Can you construe that 1 

Melnotte. No, Sir! I never construe affronts in the pre- 
sence of ladies ; by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson 
-^or give one. 

Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear! 

Madame Deschaji. Whore are you going, cousin 1 

Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit into house, l. s. e. 

Bcauseant^to Glavis). Lotus after, and pacify him; he 
evidently suspects something. 

Glavis. Yes ! — })ut my diamond ring % 

Bcauseant. And my box ! — We are over-taxed, fellow- 
subject ! — -we must stop the supplies, and dethrone the 
Prince. 

Glavis. Prince ! — he ought to be heir-apparent to King 
Stork! [Exeunt into house, t. s. e. 

Madame Deschap. Dare I ask your Highness to forgive 
my cousin's insufferable vulgarity % 

Pauline. Oh, yes ! — you will forgive his manner for the 
sake of his heart. 

Melnotte. And for the sake of his cousin. Ah, Madam, 
there is one comfort in rank — we are so sure of our position 
that we are not easily affronted. Besides, M. Damas has 
bought the right of indulgence from his friends, by never 
showing it to his enemies. 

Pauline. Ah ! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is 
rude in speech. He rose from the ranks to his present 
grade, — and in two years. 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 25 

Melnotte. In two years ! — two years, did you say 1 

Madame Deschaj). (aside). I don't like leaving girls alone 
with their lovers ; but with a prince, it would be so ill-bred 
to be prudish ! [Exit into house, l. s. e. 

Melnotte. You can be proud of your connection wdth one 
who owes his position to merit, — not birth. 

Pauline. Why, yes ; but still — 

Melnotte. Still what, Pauline 1 

Pauline. There is something glorious in the Heritage 
of Command. A man who has ancestors is like a Repre- 
sentative of the Past. 

Melnotte. True ; but, like other representatives, nine 
times out often he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline ! not 
to the Past, but to the Future, looks true nobility, and finds 
its blazon in posterity. 

Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ances- 
tors ; but you, Prince, must be proud of so illustrious a 
race ! 

Melnotte. No, no ! I would not, were I fifty times a 
prince, be a pensioner on the Dead ! I honour birth and 
ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to exer- 
tion, not the title-deeds to sloth ! I honour the laurels that 
overshadow the graves of our fathers. It is our fathers I 
emulate, when I desire that beneath the evergreen I my- 
self have planted, my own ashes may repose ! Dearest, 
could'st thou but see with my eyes ! 

Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and 
think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of 
thy palace by the lake of Como ; it is so pleasant to hear of 
thy splendours, since thou didst svi^ear to me that they 
would be desolate without Pauline ; and when thou de- 
scribest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, 
as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. 

Melnotte. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me 
paint K^ 

The home to which, could Love fulfil its prayers, /) 

This hand would lead thee, listen !* A deep vale '^ 



* The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request of Pauline. 
He proceeds to describe a home, which he does not say he possesses, but 
to which he would lead her, " could love fulfil its prayers.^^ This caution 
is intended as a reply to a sagacious critic who censures the description, 



f 



2^ THE LADY OF LYONS. [ACT II 

Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world ; 
Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold 
And whispering myrtles ; glassing softest skies 
As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, 
As I would have thy fate ! 

Pauline. My own dear love ! 

Mclnotte. A palace lifting to eternal summer 
Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower 
Of coolest foliage musical with birds, 
Whose songs should syllable thy name ! At noon 
We sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder 
Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens 
Still left us youth and love ! We'd have no friends 
That were not lovers ; no ambition, save 
To excel them all in love ; we'd read no books 
That were not tales of love — that we might smile 
To think how poorly eloquence of words 
Translates the poetry of hearts like ours ! 
And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens 
We'd guess what star should be our home when love 
IBccomes immortal ; while the perfumed light 
Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, 
And every air was heavy with the sighs 
Of orange groves and music from sweet lutes, 
And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth 
I' the midst of roses ! — Dost thou like the picture 1 

Pauline. Oh ! as the bee upon the flower, I hang 
Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue ! 
Am I not blest ] And if I love too wildly, 
Who would not love thee, like Pauline 1 

Melnotte [hitterly). Oh, false one ! 
It is the prince thou lovest, not the man ; 
If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, 
I had painted poverty, and toil and care. 
Thou had' St found no honey on my tongue ; — Pauline, 
That is not love ! 



because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory of the characteristics of 
the Lake of Como ! — When Melnotte. for instance, talks of birds, " that 
sylliible the name of Pauline," (by the way a literal translation from an 
Italian poet,) he is not thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Ara- 
bian Nights. He is venting the extravagant, but natural enthusiasm, of 
the Poet and the Lover. 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 587 

Pauline. Thou wrong'st me, cniel Prince ! 
'Tis true I might not at the first been won, 
Save through the weakness of a flattered pride ; 
But now ! — Oh ! trust me. — could'st thou fall from power 
And sink 

Melnotte. As low as that poor gardener's son ;^^^ 

Who dared to lift his eyes to thee ] A 

Pauline. Even then, V 

Methinks thou would'st be only made more dear ' 
By the sweet thought that 1 could prove how deep 
Is woman's love ! We are like the insects, caught 
By the poor glittering of a garish flame ! 
But oh, the wings once scorched, — the brightest star 
Lures us no more ; and by the fatal light 
We cling till death ! 

Melnotte. Angel ! 
(Aside.) O conscience ! conscience ! 
It must not be ! — her love hath grown a torture 
Worse than her hate. 1 will at once to Beauseant, 

And ha ! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave 

me. 
I have business with these gentlemen — I — I 
Will forthwith join you. 

Pauline. Do not tarry long! [Exit into House, l. s. e. 

Enter Beauseant and Gi.hYis from House, l. s. e. 

Melnotte. Release me from my oath, — I will not marry 
her ! 

Beauseant. Then thou art perjured. 

Melnotte. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to 
thee to marry her ! I was blind to all but her scorn ! — 
deaf to all but my passion and my rage ! Give me back 
my poverty and my honour ! 

Beauseant. It is too late, — you must marry her ! and this 
day ! I have a story already coined, — and sure to pass 
current. This Damas suspects thee, — he will set the 
police to work ; thou wilt be detected — Pauline will 
despise and execrate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the com- 
mon gaol as a swindler. 

Melnotte. Fiend! 

Beauseant. And in the heat of the girl's resentment, 



28 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act II. 

(you know of what resentment is capable) and the parents' 
shame, she will be induced to marry the first that offers — 
even perhaps your humble servant. 

Melnottc. You ! No ! that were worse — for thou hast no 
mercy ! I will marry her — I will keep my oath. Quick, 
then, with the damnable invention thou art hatching ; — 
quick, if thou would'st not have me strangle thee or 
myself. 

Glavis. What a tiger 1 Too fierce for a Prince ; he 
ought to have been the Grand Turk. 

Beauseant. Enough — I will despatch ; be prepared. 

[Exeunt Beauseant and Glavis itito House, l. s. e. 

Enter DAMAS,J'ro?n the Jiouse, l. s. e., with twos^vords. 

Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your 
excuse. I have brought you a couple of dictionaries ; let 
us see if your Highness can find out the Latin for hilbo. 

Melnotte. Away, Sir ! — I am in no humour for jesting. 

Damas. I see you understand something of the gi'am- 
mar; you decline the noun substantive "small sword" 
with great ease ; but that won't do — you must take a les- 
son in ^>>«r*m§-. 

Melnottc. Fool! 

Damas. Sir, — a man who calls me a fool insults the la- 
dy who bore me ; there's no escape for you — fight you 
shall, or 

Melnotte. (l.) Oh, enough, enough ! — take your ground. 
( They fight ; Damas is disarmed. — Melnotte takes uj) the 
sivord and returns it to Damas respectfully.) A just punish- 
ment to the brave soldier who robs the state of its best 
property — the sole right to his valour and his life ! 

Damas. (r.) Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you must 
be a man of honour — I don't care a jot whether you are a 
prince ; but a man who has carte and tierce at his fingers' 
ends must be a gentleman. 

Melnottc (aside). Gentleman ! Ay, I was a gentleman 
before I turned conspirator ; for honest men are the gen- 
tlemen of Nature ! Colonel, they tell me you rose from the 
ranks. 

Damas. I did. 

Melnotte. And in two years ? 



SCEWE I.j 



THE LADY OF LYONS. 29 



Damas. It is true ; that's no wonder in our army at 
present. Why, the oldest general in the service is scarce- 
ly thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty. 

Mehwttc. Two-and-twenty. 

Dmnas. Yes ; in the French army, now-a-days,-promo- 
tion is not a matter of purchase. We are all heroes be- 
cause we may be all generals. We have no fear of the 
cypress because we may all hope for the laurel. 

Melnotte, A general at two-and-twenty (turning away). 
— Sir, I may ask you a favour one of these days. 

Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is astonish- 
ing how much I like a man after I've fought with him. 

[Hides the swwds, r. 

Enter Madame arid Beausfant from house, l. s. e. 

Madame Deschap. Oh, Prince ! — Prince ! — What do I 
hear ] You must fly, — you must quit us ! 

Melnotte. I ! 

Beauseant. Yes, Prince ; read this letter, just received 
from my friend at Paris, one of the Directory ; they are 
very suspicious of princes, and your family take part with 
the Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your Highness 
at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say that you mast quit 
the to\vn immediately or you will be aiTested, — thrown in- 
to prison, — perhaps guillotined ! Fly ! I will order horses 
to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marseilles ; there you 
can take ship to Leghorn. 

Madame Deschaj). And what's to become of Pauline ] 
Am I not to be a mother to a princess, after all ] 

Enter Pauline and M. DEscHAPPELLEsy}<?m house, l. s. e. 

Pauline (throwing herself into Melnotte's arms). You 
must leave us ! — Leave Pauline ! 

Beauseant. Not a moment is to be wasted. 

Mons. Deschap, I will go to the magistrates and in- 
quire 

Beauseant. Then he is lost : the magistrates, hearing he 
is suspected, will order his arrest. 

Madame Deschap. And shall I not be Princess Dowa- 
ger? 

Beauseant. Why not % There is only one thing to be 



30 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Ac* It. 

done : — send for the priest — let the marriage take place at 
once, and the Prince carry home a bride ! 

Mdnottc. Impossible ! — {^Asiclc^ Villain ! — I know not 
what I say. 

Madame Dcschap. What, lose my child ] 

Beauseant. And gain a Princess ! 

Madame Dcschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so 
very kind,— ^it must be so, — we ought not to l^e selfish, — 
my daughter's happiness is at stake. She will go away, 
too, in a coach and six ! 

Pauline. Thou art here still, — I cannot part from thee, 
— my heart will break. 

Mclnotte. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union, 
—thou wilt not wed an outcast, — a fugitive. 

Pauline. Ah ! If thou art in danger, who should share 
it but Pauline ] 

Mclnotte (aside). Distraction ! — If the earth Could swal- 
low me ! 

Mans. Deschap. Gently ! — gently ! The settlements — - 
the contracts — my daughter's dowry ! 

Mclnotte. The dowry ! — -I am not base enough for that ; 
no, not one farthing ! 

Beauseant (to Madame). Noble fellow ! Really, your 
good husband is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur 
Deschappelles, you hear his Highness ; we can arrange 
the settlements by proxy, — -'tis the way with people of 
quality. 

Mons. Deschap. But 

Madame Deschap. Hold your tongue ! — Don't expose 
yourself ! 

Beauseant. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all 
of you and prepare ; the carriage shall be at the door be- 
fore the ceremony is over. 

Madame Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beau- 
seant ! You are very good to have forgiven us for refusing 
you ; but, you see— a prince ! 

Beauseant. And such a prince ! Madame, I cannot 
blush at the success of so illustrious a rival.— (J..y2^e.) Now 
will I follow them to the village — enjoy my triumph, and 
to-morrow — in the hour of thy shame and grief, I think, 
proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of the 
gardener's son. [Exit Beauseant. 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 31 

Madame DescJiap. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles— - 
give your arm to her Highness that is to be. 

Mons, Deschap. I don't Uke doing business in such a 
hurry — 'tis not the way with the house of Deschappelles 
&Co. 

Madame Deschaj). There now— you fancy you are in 
the counting-house — don't you % 

[Pushes lihn to Pauline. 

Melnottc. Stay, — stay, Pauline — one word. Have you 
no scruple — no fear % Speak — it is not yet too late. 

'Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. — 
Triumph or danger — -joy or sorrow — I am by thy side. 

Damas. Well, well. Prince, thou art a lucky man to be 
so loved. She is a good little girl in spite of her foibles — 
make her as happy as if she were not to be a princess, 
{slapinng him on the shoulder^ Come, Sir, I wish you joy — 
young — tender— lovely ; zounds, I envy you ! 

Melnotte {icho has stood apart in gloomy ahstraction). Do 

YOUI* 

♦ Oh the stage the following lines are added : — 

" Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. 

" Woo, wed, and bear her home !" so runs the bond 

To which I sold myself— and then — what then ? 

Away ! — I will not look beyond the Hour. 

Like children in the dark, 1 dare not face 

The shades that gather round me in the distance 

You envy me — 1 thank you — you may read 

My joy upon my brow — I thank you, Sir ! 

If hearts had audible language, you would hear 

How mine would answer when you talk of envy ! 

PICTURE* — END OF ACT II. 



32 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act III. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — The Exterior of the Golden Lion—ti7ne, twi- 
light. The moon rises during the Scene. 

Enter Landlord and his T)\VGmF.iiifro?n the Inn. l. d. f. 

Landlmd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, I never shall get over 
it. Our Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His 
carriage breaks down at my inn — ha ! ha! 

Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! " Is 
this the best room you have, young woman?" with such a 
toss of the head ! 

Landlord. Well, get in, Janet, get in and see to the sup- 
per J the servants must sup before they go back, 

\^Exeunt Landlord and Janet, l. d. p. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis, r. 

Beattseant. You see our Princess is lodged at last — 
one stage more, and she'll be at her journey's end — the 
beautiful palace at the foot of the Alps ! — ha ! ha ! 

Glavif. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline — especially if 
ehe's going to sup at the Golden Lion (makes a ivrij face). 
I shall never forget that cursed ragout. 

Enter Melnotte from the Inn, l* d. f. 

Beauseant. Your servant, my Prince ; you reigned most 
Worthily. I condole with you on your abdication. I am 
afraid that your highness's retinue are not very faithful 
servants* I think they will quit you at the moment of your 
fall — 'tis the fate of greatness. But you are welcome to 
your fine clothes — 'also the diamond snuff-box, which Louis 
the XIV. gave to your great-great-grandmother. 

Glavis. And the ring wdth which your grandfather the 
Doge of Venice married the Adriatic. 

Melnotte. Have I kept my oath, gentlemen 1 Say—have 
I kept my oath ] 

Beauseant. Most religiously. 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 33 

Mclnotte. Then you have done with me and mine — 
away with you ! 

Bemiscaut. How, knave % 

Melnotte. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquer- 
ors that we are, we have won the victory over a simple 
girl — compromised her honour — embittered her life — 
blasted in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. 
This is your triumph, — it is my shame ! (Turns to Beau- 
SEANT.^ Enjoy that triumph, but not in my sight. I was 
her betrayer — I ajii her protector ! Cross but her path — 
one word of scorn, one look of insult — nay, but one quiver 
of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word 
thou hast graven eternally in this heart — Repentance ! 

Beauseant. His Highness is most grandiloquent. 

Melnotte. Highness me no more ! Beware ! Remorse 
has made me a new being. Away with you ! There is 
danger in me. Away ! 

Glavis (aside). He's an awkward fellow to deal with ; 
come away, Beauseant. 

Beauseant. I know the respect due to rank. Adieu, my 
Prince. Any commands at Lyons ! Yet hold — I promised 
you 200 louis on your wedding-day ; here they are. 

Melnotte (dashing the purse to the ground). I gave you 
revenge, I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas ; 
take it. Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. 

Beauseant. You will beg my pardon for this some day. 
{^Aside to Glavis.) Come to my chateau — I shall return 
hither to-moirow to learn how Pauline likes her new dig- 
nity. 

Melnotte. Are you not gone yet % 

Beauseant. Your Highness' most obedient, most faith- 
ful— 

Glavis. And most humble servants. Ha ! ha ! 

[Exeunt Beauseant and Glavis, r. 

Melnotte. Thank heaven, I had no weapon, or I should 
have slain them. Wretch ! what can I say 1 where turn % 
On all sides mockery — the very boors within — {Liaughter 
from the Inn.) — 'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the 
exposure should have chanced ! I will call her. We will 
go hence. I have already sent one I can trust to my moth- 
er's house ; there, at least, none can insult her agony — gloat 



34 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act III. 

upon her shame ! There alone must she learn what a villain 
she has sworn to love. [As he turns to the door, 

Enter Pauline y)"<?w the Inn, l. d. f. 

Pauline. Ah, my Lord, what a place ! I never saw 
such rude people. They stare and wink so. I think the 
very sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, turns 
their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should break 
down in such a spot ! — yon are not well — the drops stand 
on your brow — your hand is feverish. 

Melnottc. Nay, it is but a passing spasm ; the air — 

Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south. [Pause, 
How pale he is — indeed thou art not well. 
Where are our people ] I will call them. 

Melnottc. Hold! 
I — I am well, 

Paulifie. Thou art ! — Ah ! now I know it. 
Thou fanciest, my kind Lord — I know thou dost — 
Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, 
Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline ; 
And so they might, but thou art by my side, 
And I forget all else ! 

Enter Landlord, ^row d. f. the servants peeping andlaugh- 
ing over hi^ shoulder. 

Landlord, My Lord — your Highness — 
Will your most noble Excellency choose — 

Melnotte. Begone, Sir ! [Exit Landlord, laughing. 

Pauline. How could they have learn' d thy rank ] 
One's sei-vants are so vain ! — nay, let it not 
Chafe thee, sweet Prince ! — a few short days, and we 
Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, 
And — ^nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles 
Already drained, or dost thou play the miser ] 

Melnotte. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, 
fair one ! 
Let us escape these rustics. Close at hand 
There is a cot, where I have bid prepare 
Our evening lodgement — a rude, homely roof. 
But honest, where our welcome will not be 
Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues 



Scene II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 35 

That are as death to Love ! A heavenly night ! 
The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. 
Wilt walk 1 I pray thee, now, — I know the path, 
Ay, every inch of it ! 

Pauline. What, thou ! methought 
Thou wert a stranger in these parts. Ah ! truant, 
Some village beauty lured thee ; — thou art now 
Grown constant. 

Melnotte. Trust me. 

Pauline. Princes are so changeful ! 

Melnotte. Come, dearest, come, 

Pauline. Shall I not call our people 
To light us 1 

Melnotte. Heaven will lend its stars for torches \ 
It is not far, 

Pauline. The night breeze chills me. 

Melnotte. Nay, 
Let me thus mantle thee ; — it is not cold. 

Pauline. Never beneath thy smile ! 

Melnotte (aside). Oh, Heaven ! forgive me ! \Plxeunt^ r. 

Scene II. — Melnotte's cottage — Widow hustling ahout — 
A table spread for supper. 

JVidow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me 
a line so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would 
be here almost immediately. She must have loved him 
well indeed, to have forgotten his birth : for though he was 
introduced to her in disguise, he is too h<mourable not to 
have revealed to her the artifice which her love only could 
forgive. Weil, I do not wonder at it ; for though my son 
is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as 
good. [Knock at the d. in f.] Ah ! here they are. 
Pinter Melnotte and Pauline, from n. in p. 

Widow, Oh, my boy, the pride of my heart ! — welcome, 
welcome I I beg pardon, Ma'am, but I do love him so ! 

Pauline. Good woman, I really — Why, Prince, what is 
this % — does the old woman know you ] Oh, I guess you 
have done her some service : another proof of your kind 
heart, is it not % 

Mdnotte, Of my kind heart, ay ! 



36 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act III. 

Pauline. So, you know the prince ] 

Widow. Know him, Madame '? — ah, I begin to fear it is 
you who know him not ! 

Pauline. Do you think she is mad ? Can we stay here, 
my Lord 1 I think there's something very wild about her. 

Melnottc. Madame, I — No, I cannot tell her ! My knees 
knock together : what a coward is a man who has lost his 
honour ! Speak to her — speak to her — {to his mother) — tell 
her that — oh, Heaven, that I were dead ! 

Pauline. How confused he looks ! — this strange place — 
this woman — what can it mean 1 I half suspect — Who 
are you, Madame ? — who are you 1 can't you speak ] are 
you struck dumb ] 

Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her ? — ah, shame 
upon you ! I thought that, before you went to the altar, 
she was to have known all? 

Pa'dine. All ! what ? My blood freezes in my veins ! 

Widow. Poor lady ! — dare I tell her, Claude ? 

[Melnotte makes a sign of assent. 

Know you not then, Madame, that this young man is of 
poor though honest parents 1 Know you not that you are 
wedded to my son, Claude INIelnotte ] 

Pauline. Your son ! hold ! hold ! do not speak to me — 
{approaches Melnotte and lays her hand on his arm.) Is 
this a jest 1 Is it ] I know it is : only speak — one word— ^ 
one look — one smile. I cannot believe — I, who loved thedJP 

so — I cannot believe that thou art such a No, I will not 

wrong thee by a harsh word; speak ! 

Melnotte. Leave us ; have pity on her, on me : leave us. 

Widow. Oh, Claude! that I should live to see thee 
Dowed by shame ! thee, of whom I was so proud ! 

[Exit Widow, by the staircase, r. u. e. 

Pauline. Her son ! her son ! 

Melnotte. Now, lady, hear me. 

Paidine. Hear thee ! 
Ay, speak. Her son ! have fiends a parent 1 speak, 
That thou may'st silence curses. Speak ! 

Melnotte. No, curse me : 
Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. 

Pauline {laughing wildly). "This is thy palace, where 
the perfumed light 



Scene II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 37 

*' Steals through the mists of alabaster lamps, 

'* And every air is heavy with the sighs 

*' OF orange groves, and music from sweet lutes. 

** And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 

" r the midst of roses ! Dost thou like the picture V* 

This is my bridal home, and i/iou my bridegroom ! 

fool ! O dupe! O wretch ! I see it all — 
The bye-word and the jeer of every tongue 
In Lyons ! Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
Of human kindness 'f if thou hast, why, kill me, 
And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot, 
It cannot be ! this is some horrid dream : 

1 shall wake soon {t.ouvhing libn). Art flesh] art man] or but 
The shadows seen in sleep % It is too real. 

AVhat have I done to thee % how sinn'd against thee, 
That thou shouldst crush me thus ] 

Mdnottc. Pauline! by pride. 
Angels have fallen ere thy time ; by pride — - 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould — - 
The evil spirit of a bitter love, '>^ 

And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. — 
From my first years, my soul was fiU'd with thee : 
I saw thee, midst the flowers the lowly boy 
Tended, unmarked by thee, a spirit of bloom. 
And joy and freshness, as if spring itself 
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape \ 
I saw thee ! and the passionate heart of man 
Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; 
And from that hour I grew — what to the last 
I shall be — thine adorer ! Well ! this love, 
Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became 
A fountain of ambition and bright hope : 
I thought of tales that by the winter hearth 
Old gossips tell — how maidens, sprung from Kings, 
Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how Love, like Death, 
Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 
Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home 
In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! 
My father died; and I, the peasant-born, 
Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise 
Out of the prison of my mean estate ; 
And, with such jewels as the exploring Mind 



38 THE LADY OF LYONS. [AcT III. 

Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my ransom 

From those twin gaolers of the daring heart — 

Low Birth and iron Fortune. Thy bright image, 

Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, 

And lured me on to those inspiring toils 

By which man masters men I 

A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages i 

For thee I sought to borrow from each Grace, 

And every Muse, such attributes as lend 

Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, 

And Passion taught me poesy — of thee ! 

And on the painter's canvas grew the life 

Of beauty — Art became the shadow 

Of the dear star-light of thy haunting eyes ! 

Men called me vain, some mad— [ heeded not, 

But still toil'd on, hoped on, for it was sweet. 

If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ! 

Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ] 

Melnottc. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pout 
The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 
And sent them to thee — such a tribute, lady, 
As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 
The name — appended by the burning heart 
That long'd to show its idol what bright things 
It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name 
That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! 
That very hour^ — when passion, turned to wrath, 
Resembled hatred most ; when thy disdain 
Made my whole soul a chaos — in that hour 
The tempters found me a revengeful tool 
For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm— « 
It tum'd and stung thee ! 

Pauline. Love, Sir, hath no sting. 
What was the slight of a poor powerless girl, 
To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge] 
Oh, how I loved this man ! a serf ! a slave ! 

Melnottc. Hold, lady ! No, not slave ! Despair is free \ 
I will not tell thee of the throes, the sti-uggles. 
The anguish, the remorse. No, let it pass ! 
And let me come to such most poor atonement 
Yet in ray power. Pauline ! 



Scene II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 39 

^Approaching her with great emotion, and 
about to take her hand. 

Pauline. No, touch me not ! 
I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant ; 
And I — oh Heaven ! a peasant's wife ! I'll work, 
Toil, drudge ; do what thou wilt ; but touch me not : 
Let my wrongs make me sacred ! 

Melnotte. Do not fear me. 
Thou dost not know me, Madame : at the altar 
My vengeance ceased, my guilty oath expired ! 
Henceforth, no image of some marbled saint, 
Niched in cathedral's aisles, is hallow'd more 
From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. 
I am thy husband ; nay, thou need'st not shudder : 
Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. ,y 

A marriage thus unholy — unfulfilled — 
A bond of fraud — is, by the laws of France, 
Made void and null. To-night, then, sleep — in peace. 
To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn 
I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the altar, 
Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. 
The law shall do thee justice, and restore 
Thy right to bless another with thy love. 
And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot 
Him who so loved-^so wrong'd thee, think at least 
Heaven left some remnant of the angel still 
In that poor peasant's nature ! 
Ho ! my mother ! 

Widow comes doivn stairs, r. u. e. 
Conduct this lady — (she is not my wife ; 
She is our guest, our honoured guest, my mother !) 
To the poor chamber where the sleep of virtue 
Never beneath my father's honest roof, 
E'en villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, 
I think thou wilt believe me. — Go, my mother. 

Widoiv. She is not thy wife ! 

Melnotte. Hush ! hush ! for mercy sake 
Speak not, but go. [Widow ascends the stairs, r. u. e. 

(Melnotte sinking down,) All angels bless and guard her ! 

PICTURE. 
END OF ACT III. 



40 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act IV. 



A C T I V. 

Scene I. — The Cottage as before — Melnotte seated heforea 
table — writing implements^ Sfc. — {Day breaking.) 

Melnotte. Hush, hush ! — she sleeps at last ! — thank Hea- 
ven, for awhile she forgets even that I live ! Her sobs, 
which have gone to my heart the whole, long desolate night, 
have ceased ! — all calm — all still ! I will go now ; I will 
send this letter to Pauline's father — when he arrives, I will 
place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and then, 
O France ! my country ! accept among thy protectors, thy 
defenders — the Peasant's Son ! Our country is less proud' 
than custom, and does not refuse the blood, the heart, the 
right hand of the poor man ! 

Widow comes down stairs, r. u. e.. 

Widoio. My son, thou hast acted ill, but sin brings its 
own punishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for 
a mother to reproach thee. 

Melnotte. What is past is past. There is a future left 
to all men, who have the virtue to repent and the energy 
to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son, yet; meanwhile, 
remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For 
the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honour, bear with 
her. If she weep, console; if she chide, be silent ! 'Tis 
but a little while more ; I shall send an express fast as 
horse can speed to her father. Farewell ! I shall return 
shortly. 

Widow. It is the only course left to thee ; thou wert led 
astray, but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, 
as ever it was, when in thy most ambitious hopes, thou 
wert never ashamed of thy poor mother! 

Melnotte. Ashamed of thee ! No, if I yet endure, yet 
live, yet hope, it is only because I would not die till I have 
redeemed the noble heritage I have lost — the heritage I took 
unstained from thee and my dead father — a proud con- 
science and an honest name. I shall win them back yet ; 
Heaven bless you. [Exit, d. in p. 

Widow. My dear Claude ! how my heart bleeds for him. 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 41 

[Pauline looks down from above, and after a -pause descends, 

Pauline. Not here ! he spares me that pain at least ; so 
far he is considerate — yet the place seems still more deso- 
late without him. Oh, that I could hate him ; the gardener's 
son ! and yet how nobly he — no— no — no, I will not be so 
mean a thing as to forgive him ! 

W^idow. Good morning, Madam ; I would have waited 
on you if I had known you were stin-ing. 

Pauline. It is no matter. Ma'am; your son's wife ought 
to wait on herself. 

Widow. My son's wife ; let not that thought vex you, 
Madam — he tells me that you will have your divorce. And 
I hope I shall live to see him smile again. There are 
maidens in this village, young and fair, Madam, who may 
yet console him. 

Pauline. I dare say — they are very welcome ; and when 
the divorce is got, he will marry again. I am sure I hope 
so. [ Weeps. 

Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the 
province, if he had pleased it ; but his head was turned, 
poor child ! he could think of nothing but you. [ Weeps. 

Pauline. Don't weep, mother! 

Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know ; but love 
is so headstrong in the young. Don't weep. Madam. 

Pauline. So, as you was saying ; go on. 

Widoic. Oh, I cannot excuse him. Ma'am ; he was not 
in his right senses. 

Pauline. But he always — always {sohhing) loved — ^loved 
me, then 1 

Widow. He thought of nothing else ; see here — ^he learnt 
to paint that he might take your likeness {uncovers the pic- 
ture). But that's all over now ; I trust you have cured him 
of his folly. But, dear heart, you have had no breakfast ! 

Pauline. I can't take anything — don't trouble yourself. 

Widoiv. Nay, Madam, be persuaded : a little coffee will 
refresh you. Our milk and eggs are excellent. I will get 
out Claude's coffee-cup — it is of real Sevre ; he saved up 
all his money to buy it three years ago, because the name 
of Pauline was inscribed on it. 

Pauline. Three years ago ! Poor Claude ! Thank you. 

d2 



42 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act IV. 

I think I will have some coffee. Oh, if he were but a poor 
gentleman, even a merchant ; but a gardener's son ! and 
what a home ! Oh, no, it is too dreadful ! [ They scat tlicm- 
selves at the table — Beauseant oj)ens the lattice and looks inF. 

Beauscant. So — so — the coast is clear ! I saw Claude in 
the lane ; I shall have an excellent opportunity. 

[Shuts the lattice and knocks at the d. in f. 

Pauline {starting). Can it be my father 1 He has not 
sent for him yet 1 No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get 
rid of me. 

Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet ; it 
must be some neighbour. 

Pauline. Don't admit any one. [Widow opens the d. inF. 

Beauseant pushes her aside and enters. 

Ah ! Heavens ! that hateful Beauseant ! This is indeed 
bitter. 

Beauseant. Good morning, Madam ! Oh, Widow, your 
son begs you will have the goodness to go to him in the 
village — he wants to speak to you on particular business ; 
you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, or tlie baker's, 
or at some other fiiend's of your family — make haste ! 

Pauline. Don't leave me, mother ! don't leave me ! 

Beauseant {with great respect). Be not alarmed, Madam. 
Believe me your friend, your servant, 

Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house ! 
Go, Madam, if your son wishes it ; I will not contradict his 
commands whilst at least he has still the right to be obeyed. 

Widow. I don't understand this ; however, I shan't be 
long gone. [Exit d. in f. 

Pauline. Sir, T divine the object of your visit — you wish 
to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be 
it so ; I am prepared to endure all — even your presence ! 

Beauseant. You mistake me. Madam — Pauline, you mis- 
take me ! I come to lay my fortune at your feet. You 
must already be disenchanted with this impostor ; these 
walls are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty ! Shall 
that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born peasant ? 
Beloved, beautiful Pauline ! fly with me — my carnage waits 
without — I will bear you to a home more meet for your 
reception. Wealth, luxury, station — all shall yet be yours. 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 48 

I forget your past disdain — I remember only your beauty, 
and my unconquerable love ! - 

Pauline. Sir, leave this house — it is humble : but a hus- 
band's roof, however lovv^ly, is, in the eyes of God and man, 
the temple of a wife's honour ! Know that I would rather 
starve — yes ! with him who has betrayed me, than accept 
your lawful hand, even were you the prince whose name 
he bore ! Go ! 

Bcauseant. What, is not your pride humbled yet ] 

Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity, in affliction 
becomes virtue. 

Beauseant. Look round : these rugged floors — these 
homely walls — this wretched struggle of poverty for com- 
fort — think of this ! and contrast with such a picture the 
refinement, the luxury, the pomp that the wealthiest gentle- 
man of Lyons offers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear me ! 

Paulirie. Oh ! my father ! why did I leave you 1 why am 
I thus friendless 1 Sir, you see before you a betrayed, in- 
jured, miserable woman ! respect her anguish ! 

Melnotte opens the d. in f. and silently pauses at the 
threshold. 

Beauseant. No ! let me rather thus console it ; let me 
snatch from those lips one breath of that fragrance which 
never should be wasted on the low churl, thy husband. 
Pauline. Help ! Claude ! Claude ! have I no protector % 
Beauseant. Be silent ! {showing a pistol.) See, I do not 
come unprepared even for violence. I will brave all things 
— thy husband and all his race — for thy sake. Thus, then, 
I clasp thee ! 

Melnotte (dashing hiin to the other end of the stage). 
Pauline — look up, Pauline ! thou art safe. 

Beauseant (levelling his pistol). Dare you thus insult a 
man of my birth, ruffian ] 

Pauline. Oh, spare him — spare my husband ! Beauseant 
— Claude — no — no ! [Faints. 

Melnotte. Miserable trickster ! shame upon you ! brave 
devices to terrify a woman ! coward — you tremble — you 
have outraged the laws — you know that your weapon is 
harmless — you have the courage of the mountebank, not 
the bravo ! Pauline, there is no danger. 



44 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act IV. 

Beameant. I wish thou wert a gentleman — as it is, thou 
art beneath me. Good day, and a happy honey-moon. — 
f Aside. J I will not die till I am avenged. 

[Exit Beauseant, d. in f. 

Melrtotte. I hold her in these arms — the last embrace ! 
Never, ah, never more, shall this dear head 
Be pillowed on the heart that should have shelter'd 
And has betray'd ! Soft — soft ! one kiss — poor wretch ! 
No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now ! 
One kiss — so ends all record of my crime ! 
^ It is the seal upon the tomb of Hope, 

By which, like some lost, soiTOwing angel, sits 
Sad Memory evermorey-she breathes — she moves — 
She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder 
Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. 

[Places her on a seat. 
There — we are strangers now ! 

Pauline. All gone — all calm — 
Is every thing a dream ? thou art safe, unhurt — 
I do not love thee ; but — but I am a woman, 
And — and — no blood is spilt ] 

Melnottc. No, lady, no ; 
My guilt has not deserved so rich a blessing 
As even danger in thy cause. 

Enter Widow, from d, i7i f. 

Widoiv. My son, I have been every where in search of 
you ; why did you send for me ? 

Mehiotte. I did not send for you. 

Widow. No ! but I must tell you your express has re- 
turned. 

Mehiotte. So soon ! impossible ! 

Widow. Yes, he met the lady's mother and father on the 
road ; they were going into the country on a visit. Your 
messenger says that Monsieur Deschappelles turned almost 
white wdth anger, when he read your letter. They will be 
here almost immediately. Oh, Claude, Claude ! what will 
they do to you 1 How I tremble ! Ah, Madam ! do not 
let them injure him — if you knew how he doated on you ! 

Pauline. Injure him ! no. Ma'am, be not afraid ; — my 
father ! how shall I meet him ? how go back to Lyons ? the 



Scene I] THE LADY OF LYONS. 45 

scoff of the whole city ! Cruel, cruel, Claude ! (In great 
agitation). — Sir, you have acted most treacherously! 

Melnotte. I know it, Madam. 

Pauline (aside). If he would but ask me to forgive him ! 
— I never can forgive you, Sir ! 

Melnotte. I never dared to hope it. 

Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have 
sworn to— to love you. Sir. 

Melnotte. That was under a false belief, Madam ; Hea- 
ven and the laws will release you from your vow. 

Pauline. He will drive me mad ! If he were but less 
proud — if he would but ask me to remain — hark, hark ! I 
hear the wheels of the carriage — Sir — Claude, they are 
coming ; have you no word to say ere it is too late — quick 
— speak ! 

Melnotte. I can only congratulate you on your release. 
Behold your parents ! 

Enter Monsieur and, Madame Deschappeli.es and Colo- 
nel Damas, d. in F. 

Mons. DescJiap. My child ! — my child ! 

Madame Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline ! — what a vil- 
lainous hovel this is ! Old woman, get me a chair — I shall 
faint — I certainly shall. What will the world say ? Child, 
you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily bix)ken. 

Damas. Ha, ha ! — most noble Prince — I am sorry to see 
a man of your quality in such a coildition ; I am afraid 
your Highness will go to the House of Correction. 

Melnotte. Taunt on. Sir — I spared you when you were 
unarmed — I am unarmed now. A man who has no excuse 
for crime, is indeed defenceless ! 

Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all ! 

Mons. Deschap. Where is the impostor ? Are you thus 
shameless, traitor ] Can you brave the presence of that 
girl's father ] 

Melnotte. Strike me, if it please you — you are her 
father ! 

Pauline. Sir — sir, for my sake ; — whatever his guilt, he 
has acted nobly in atonement. 

Madame Deschap. Nobly ! Are you mad, girl ] I have 
no patience with you — to disgrace all your family thus \ 



46 THE LADY OF LYONS. 



[Act IV. 



Nobly ! Oh you abominable, hardened, pitiful, mean, ugly, 
villain ! 

Damas. Ugly ! Why he was beautiful, yesterday. 

Fauline. Madam, this is his roof, and he is my husband. 
Respect your daughter, and let blame fall alone on her. 

Madame Deschap. You — you — oh, I'm choking. 

Mons. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon 
a conscience like yours — you renounce all pretensions to 
the person of this lady 1 

Melnotte. I do. fG-ives a paper.) Here is my consent to 
a divorce — my full confession of the fraud, which annuls ' 
marriage. Your daughter has been foully wronged — I 
grant it. Sir ; but her own lips will tell you, that from the 
hour in which she crossed this threshold, I returned to my 
own station, and respected hers. Pure and inviolate, as 
when yestermorn you laid your hand upon her head and 
blessed her, I yield her back to you. For myself — I deliv- 
er you forever from my presence. An outcast and a crim- 
inal, I seek some distant land, where I may mourn my sin, 
and i^ray for your daughter's peace. Farewell — farewell 
to you all forever ! 

Widmc. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor 
mother % She does not disown you in your sorrow — no, 
not even in your guilt. No divorce can separate a mother 
from her son. 

Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, 
mother, no — for you are now mi/ mother also ! — nor should 
any law, human or divine, separate the wife from her hus- 
band's soiTows. Claude, Claude — all is forgotten — forgiv- 
en — I am thine for ever ! 

Madame Deschap. What do I hear 1 — Come away, or 
never see my face again. 

Mons. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you ! — will 
you forsake us for him 1 

Pauline (going back to her father). Oh, no ! but you will 
forgive him, too ; we will live together — he shall be your 
son. 

Mons. Deschap. Never ! Cling to him and forsake your 
parents ! His home shall be yours — his fortune yours — his 
fate yours : the wealth I have acquired by honest industry 
shall never enrich the dishonest man. 



Scene t.] 



tHE LADY OF LYONS. 47 



Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury while 
a husband toils ! Claude, take me ; thou canst not give me 
wealth, titles, station — -but thou canst give me a true heart. 
I will work for thee, tend thee, bear with thee, and never*, 
never shall these lips reproach thee for the past, 

Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber ! 

Melnottc. This is the heaviest blow of all ! — What a 
heart I have wronged ! Do not fear me. Sir : I am not at 
all hardened — I will not rob her of a holier love than mine. 
Pauline ! angel of love and mercy ! your memory shall 
lead me back to virtue ! The husband of a being so beau- 
tiful in her noble and sublime tenderness may be poor — 
may be low-born — (there is no guilt in the decrees of 
Providence ! ) — but he should be one who can look thee in 
the face without a blush, — to whom thy love does not bring 
remorse, — who can fold thee to his heart and say, — ''Here 
there is no deceit !"— I am not that man ! 

Damas (aside to Melnotte). Thou art a noble fellow, 
notwithstanding, and wouldst make an excellent soldier* 
Serve in my regiment. I have had a letter from the Direc- 
tory — our young General takes the command of the army 
in Italy ; I am to join him at Marseilles— I will depart this 
day if thou wilt go with me. 

Melnotte. It is the favour I Would have asked thee, if I 
had dared. Place me wherever a foe is most dreaded, — • 
wherever France most needs a life ! 

Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee ! 

Melnotte. There is my hand ! Mother ! your blessing* 
I shall see you again, — -a better man than a prince,-— a 
man who has bought the right to high thoughts by brave 
deeds. And thou ! thou ! so wildly worshipped, so guilt- 
ily betrayed,— all is not yet lost ! — for thy memory, at 
least, must be mine till death ! If I live, the name of him 
thou hast once loved shall not rest dishonoured ; if I fall, 
amidst the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul will fly 
back to thee, and Love shall share with Death my last 
sigh ! More — more would I speak to thee !—- to pray ! — to 
bless ! But, no ! — when I am less unworthy I will utter it 

to Heaven ! — I cannot trust myself to (turning to Des- 

CHAPPELLES.) Your pardou, Sir ; — they are my last 
words — Farewell ! \Exity d. in f. 



4g THE LADV of LYONS. [Act V. 

Bamas. I will go after him, — France will thank me for 
tliig. [Exit D. in F. 

Fauline (starting from her father's arms). Claude ! 
Claude ! — my husband ! 

Mons. Beschap. You have a father still ! 

PICTURE. END OP ACT IV. 



ACT V. 
Scene I. — 7%e Streets of Lyonsi. 

(tWo years and a half from the date of act IV.) 

Enter First, Second and Third Officers, l. 

First OJ/icer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant 
old Dam as : it is his native place. 

Second OJ/icer. Yes ; he has gained a step in the army 
since he was here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very 
proud of stout General Damas. 

Third OJjicer. Promotion is quick in the French army. 
This mysterious Morier, — the hero of Lodi, and tiie favour- 
ite of the Commander-in-Chief, — has risen to a colonel's 
lank in two years and a half 

Enter Damas, c* a General, l. 

Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen ; I hope you will 
amuse yourselves during our short stay in Lyons. It is a 
fine city ; improved since 1 left it. Ah ! it is a pleasure 
to grow old, — when the years that bring decay to our- 
selves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You 
have not met with Morier 1 

First O/ficcr. No : we were just speaking of him. 

Second Officer. Pray, General, can't you tell us who this 
Morier really is ? 

Dcnnas, Is? — why a Colonel in the French army. 

Third Officer. True. But what was he at first 1 

Bamas. At fii-st % — Why a baby in long clothes, I sup- 
pose. 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 49 

First Officer. Ha ! — ha ! — Ever facetious, General ! 

Second Officer (to Third). The General is sore upon this 
point ; you will only chafe him. — Any commands, General ] 

Damas. None, — Good day to you ! 

[Exeunt Second and Third Offiicers, ft* 

Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Mo- 
rier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity. 

First Officer. Say interest, rather. General. His con- 
stant melancholy, — the loneliness of his habits, — his dar- 
ing valour, — his brilliant rise in the profession, — your friend- 
ship, and the favours of the Commander-in-Chief, — all 
tend to make him as much the matter of gossip as of ad- 
miration. But where is he, General 1 I have missed him 
all the morning. 

Damas. Why, Captain, I'll let you into a secret. My 
young friend has come with me to Lyons, in hopes of find^ 
ing a miracle. 

First Officer. A miracle ! — 

Damas. Yes, a miracle ! In other words, — a constant 
woman. 

First Officer. Oh ! — an affair of love ! 

Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons 
than he waved his hand to me, threw himself from his 
horse, and is now, I wan-ant, asking every one, who can 
know* anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is 
still true to a certain gentleman ! 

First Officer. Success to him ! — and of that success 
there can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the 
hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of the proudest 
families in France. 

Davias. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and 
her mother are most handsomely endowed. By the way, 
Captain, if you should chance to meet with Morier, tell 
him he will find me at the hotel. 

Fii-st Officer. I will, General. [Exit, r. 

Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make 
a report to my young Colonel. Ha ! by Mars, Bacchus, 
Apoilo, — here comes Monsieur Beauseant! 

Enter Beauseant, r. 

Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant ! How fares it 
with you ] 



50 THE LA.DY OF LYONS. [Act V. 

Beauseant. (Aside). Damas ! that is unfortunate ; — if 
the Italian campaign should have filled his pockets, he may 
seek to baffle me in the moment of my victory. (Aloud.) 
Your servant, General, — for such, I think, is your new dis- 
tinction ! Just arrived in Lyons % 

Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Des- 
chappelles ] Have they forgiven you in that affair of 
young Melnotte % You had some hand in that notable de- 
vice, — ;eh % 

Beauseant. Why, less than you think for ! The fellow 
imposed upon me. I have set it all right now. What has 
become of him? He could not have joined the army, af- 
ter all. There is no such name in the books. 

Damas. I know nothing al)out Melnotte. As you say, 1 
never heartl the name in the Grand Army. 

Beauseant. Hem ! — you are not married, General '? 

Damas. Do I look like a married man, Sir ] — No, thank 
Heaven ! My profession is to make widows, not wives. 

Beauseant. You must have gained much booty in Italy ! 
Pauline will be your heiress — eh 1 

Damas. Booty ! Not I ! Heiress to what ? Two trunks 
and a portmanteau, — four horses, — three swords, — two 
suits of regimentals, and six pair of white leather inexpres- 
sibles ! A pretty fortune for a young lady ! 

Beauseant [aside). Then all is safe ! [Aloud.) Ha! ha! 
Is that really all your capital, General Damas 1 Why, 1 
thought Italy had been a second Mexico to you soldiers. 

Damas. All a toss up. Sir. I was not one of the lucky 
ones ! My friend Morier, indeed, saved something hand- 
some. But our Commander-in-Chief took care of him, and 
Morier is a thrifty economical dog, — not like the rest of 
us soldiers, who spend our money carelessly as if it were 
our blood. 

Beauseant. Well, it is no matter ! 1 do not want fortune 
with Pauline. And you must know. General Damas, that 
your fair cousin has at length consented to reward my long 
and ardent attachment. 

Damas. You I the devil ! Why, she is already married. 
There is no divorce ! 

Beauseant. True ; but this very day she is formally to 
authorize the necessary proceedings,-^this very day she is 



Scene I]. THE LADY OF LYONS. 51 

to sign the contract that is to make her mine within one 
week from the day on which her present illegal marriage 
is annulled. 

Damas. You tell me wonders ! — Wonders ! No ; I be- 
lieve anything of women ! 

Beauseant. I must wish you good morning. 

[As he is goingy l. 
Enter Deschappelles, r. ^^ 

MoTis.' DescJiajyp. Oh, Beauseant ! well met. Let us 
come to the notary at once. " ' - 

Damas (to Deschappelles).' Why, cousin % 

Mons. Deschapp. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call 
on us ; my wife will be delighted to see you. 

Damas. Your wife be blessed for her condescen- 
sion ! But (taking him aside) what do I hear 1 Is it pos- 
sible that your daughter has consented to a divorce 1 — that 
she will marry Monsieur Beauseant ] 

Mons. Deschapp. Certainly ! what have you to say against 
it "? A gentleman of birth, fortune, character. We are not 
so proud as we were ; even my wdfe has had enough of 
nobility and princes ! 

Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly. 

Mons. Deschapp. (tdkiiig snuff.) That was two years and 
a half ago ! 

Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte ! 

Mons. Deschapp. But do not talk of that impostor. I 
hope he is dead or has left the country. Nay, even were 
he in Lyons at this moment, he ought to rejoice that, in an 
honourable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget 
her suffering and his crime. 

Damas. Nay, if it be all settled I have no more to say. 
Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be 
signed this very day. 

Mons. Deschap. It is ; at one o'clock precisely. Will 
you be one of the witnesses 1 

Damas. I % — No ; that is to say — yes, certainly ! — at one 
o'clock I will wait on you. 

Mons, Desckc^. Till then, adieu — come, Beauseant. 

[Exeunt Beauseant and Deschappelles, l. 



^2 THE LADY OP LYOl<lS. [AcxV. 

Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman 
Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air : 
From air he takes his colours, holds his lite,— 
Changes with every wind,— grows lean or tat; 
Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy. 
Or paRid with despair— j^s^ as the gale 
Vanes from north to south— from heat to cold ! 
Oh woman ! woman ! tliou shouldst liave few sins 
Ofthi^^rownjo'^^^Iswerfoj! Thjou art the author 
Of such a book o£f ollies. in a^man, 
ThatlTwouTdTieed thetearsjjf all the angels 
To blot the record outj. 

Enter Melnotte, pale and agitated, R. 

I need not tell thee ! Thou hast heard— 
Melnotte. The worst ! 

^ Damas. Be cheered ; others are as fair as she is ! 
Melnotte. Others !— the world is crumbled at my teet ! 
She ^vas my world ; filled up the whole of bemg- 
Smiled in the sunshine-walk'd the glorious earth- 
Sate in my heart— was the sweet life of lite: 
The Past was hers ; I dreamt not of a Future 
That did not wear her shape ! Memory and Hope 
Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless ! Henceforth 
The universal space is desolate ! 
Damas. Hope yet. 

Melnotte. Hope, yes !— one hope is left me still— 
A soldier's grave ! Glory has died with Love ! 
I look into my heart, and where I saw 
PauUne, see Death ! , • j <> 

(After a pause.) But am I not deceived { 
I went but by the rumour of the town. 
Rumour is false,— I was too hasty ! Damas, 
Wliom hast thou seen % 

Damas. Thy rival and her father. * 

Arm thyself for the truth ! He heeds not 

Melnotte. She 
Will never know how deeply she was loved ! 
The charitable night, that wont to bring 
Comfort to day, in bright and eloquent dreams, 



Scene I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 53 

Is henceforth leagued with misery ! Sleep, farewell, 
Or else become eternal ! Oh, the waking 
From false oblivion, and to see the sun, 
And know she is another's ! 

Damas. Be a man ! 

Melnotte. I am a man ! — it is the sting of woe, 
Like mine, that tells us we are men ! 

Damas. The false one 
Did not deserve thee. 

Melnotte. Hush ! — No word against her ! 
"Why should she keep, thro' years and silent absence. 
The holy tablets of her virgin faith 
True to a traitor's name ] Oh, blame her not ; 
It were a sharper grief to think her worthless 
Than to be what I am ! To-day, — to-day ! 
They said "to-day !" This day, so wildly welcomed — 
This day, my soul had singled out of time 
And mark'd for bliss ! This day ! oh, could I see her, 
See her once more unknown ; but hear her voice, 
So that one echo of its music might 
Make ruin less appalling in its silence ! 

Damas. Easily done ! Come with me to her house ; 
Your dress — your cloak — moustache — the bronzed hues 
Of time and toil — the name you bear — belief 
In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. 
Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come. 
There may be hope ! Pauline is yet so young, 
They may have forced her to these second bridals 
Out of mistaken love. 

Melnotte. No, bid me hope not ! 
Bid me not hope ! I could not bear again 
To fall from such a heaven ! One gleam of sunshine, 
And the ice breaks, and I am lost ! Oh, Damas, 
There's no such thing as courage in a man ; 
The veriest slave that ever crawFd from danger 
Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, 
I bore it, did I not % I still had hope. 
And now I — I — \^ursts into an agony of grief , 

Damas. What, comrade ! all the women 
That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts. 
Were not worth tears like these ! ^ 



64 THE LADY OF LYONS. [Act V. 

Melnotte, 'Tis past — forget it. 
I am prepared ; life has no farther ills ! 
The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, 
And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven ! 

Damas. His very face is changed ! a breaking heart 
Does its work soon ! — Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself : 
One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. 

Melnotte. See her ! 
There is a passion in that simple sentence 
That shivers all the pride and power of reason 
Into a chaos ! 

Damas. Time wanes ; — come, ere yet 
It be too late. 

Melnotte. Terrible words — " Too late .'" 
Lead on. One last look more, and then 

Damas. Forget her ! 
^ Melnotte. Forget her, yes ! — For death remembers not. 

\Eixeunt, L. 

Scene II. — A room in the house of Monsieur Deschap- 
PELLES ; Pauline seated in great dejection. 

Pauline, It is so, then. I must be false to Love, 
Or sacrifice a father ! Oh, my Claude, 
My lover and my husband ! have I lived 
To pray that thou mayst find some fairer boon 
Than the deep faith of this devoted heart, — 
Nourish' d till now — now broken ! 

Enter Monsieur Deschappelles, l. 

Mons. Descnap. My dear child. 
How shall I thank — how bless thee 1 Thou hast saved — 
I will not say my fortune — I could bear 
Reverse, and shrink not — but that prouder wealth 
Which merchants value most — my name, my credit — 
The hard-won honours of a toilsome life — 
These thou hast saved, my child ! 

Pauline. Is there no hope ] 
No hope but this ] 

Mons. Deschap. None. If, without the sum 
Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day 



1 \ 



Scene n.] THE LADY C^ LYONS. 55 

Sinks to the west — to-morrow brings our mini 

And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse 

The bankrupt merchant ! and the insolent herd 

We feasted and made merry, cry in scorn 

" How pride has fallen ! — Lo, the bankrupt merchant !" 

My daughter, thou hast saved us ! 

Pauline. And am lost ! 

Mons. Deschap, Come, let me hope that Beauseant^s 
love 

Pauline. His love ! 
Talk not of love — Love has no thought of self! 
Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold 
The loathsome prostitution of a hand 
Without a heart ! Love sacrifices all things, 
To bless the thing it loves ! He knows not love. 
Fatlier, his love is hate — his hope revenge ! 
My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood — 
These are the joys he wrings from our despair ! 

Mons. Peschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him I 
Shame and ruin 
Were better than thy miseiy ; — think no more on't. 
My sand is well-nigh run — what boots it when 
The glass is broken ] We'll annul the contract. 
And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell 
These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, 
I'll think thou art spared ; and wait the Liberal Hour 
That lays the beggar by the side of kings ! 

Pauline. No — no — ^forgive me ! You, my honoured 
father, — 
You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips 
Never knew one harsh word ! I'm not ungrateful : 
I am but human ! — hush ! Now^ call the bridegroom— 
You see I am prepared — no tears — all calm ; 
But, father, talk no more of love ! 

Mons. Deschap. My child, 
'Tis but one struggle ; he is young, rich, noble ; 
Thy state vsdll rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons ; 
And when this heart can shelter thee no more, 
Thy youth will not be guardianless. 

Pauline. I have set 
My foot upon the ploughshare — I will pass 



66 THE LADY OF LYONS. |;Act V. 

The fiery ordeal. — (Aside.) Merciful Heaven, support 

me ! 
And on the absent wanderer shed the light 
Of happier stars — lost ever more to me ! 

Enter Madame Deschappelles, Beauseant, Glavis arid 
Notary, l. c. 

Madame Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in des- 
hahille — you ought to be more alive to the importance of 
this joyful occasion. We had once looked higher, it is 
true ; but you see, after all. Monsieur Beauseant's father 
was a Marquis, and that's a great comfort ! Pedigree and 
jointure ! — you have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. 
A young lady decorously brought up should only have two 
considerations in her choice of a husband : — first, is his 
birth honourable, --secondly, will his death be advantageous 1 
All other trifling details ^should be left to parental anxiety ! 

Beauseant (approaching, and, waving aside Madame). 
Ah, Pauline ! let me hope that you are reconciled to an 
event which confers such rapture upon me. 

Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. 

Beauseant. Doom is a harsh word, s,weet lady. 

Pauline (aside). This man must have some mercy — his 
heart cannot be marble. (Aloud.) Oh, sir, be just — be 
generous ! — Seize a noble triumph — a gi'eat revenge ! — 
Save the father, and spare the child ! 

Beauseant (aside). Joy — joy alike to my hatred and my 
passion ! The haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. 
(Aloud.) You ask from me what I have not the sublime 
virtue to grant — a virtue reserved only for the gardener's 
son ! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their ful- 
filment ! — I adhere to the contract — your father's ruin, or 
your hand ! 

Pauline. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. 

[ The clock strikes One. 
Enter Damas and Melnotte, l. c. 

Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. — Let me 
introduce Colonel Morier. 

Madame Deschap. (curtseying very low). What, the cel- 
ebrated hero % This, is, indeed, an honour ! 

[Melnotte hows and remains in the hack-ground. 



ScSra II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 57 

Damas (to Pauline). My little cousin, I congratulate 
you ! What, no smile — no blush ] You are going to be 
divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this rich gentle- 
man. You ought to be excessively happy ! 

Fauline. Happy ! 

Damas. Why, how pale you are, child ! — Poor Pauline ! 
Hist — confide in me ! Do they force you to this ] 

Pauline. No! 

Damas. You act with your own free consent % 

Pauline. My own consent — yes. 

Damas. Then you are the most — I will not say what 
you are. 

Pauline. You think ill of me — be it so — yet if you knew 
all 

Dajnaj. There is some mystery — speak out, Pauline. 

Pauline (suddenly). Oh ! perhaps you can save me ! 
you are our relation — our friend. My father is on the 
verge of bankruptcy — this day he requires a large sum to 
meet demands that cannot be denied ; that sum Beauseant 
will advance — this hand the condition of the barter. Save 
me if you have the means — save me ! You will be repaid 
above ! • 

Damas. I recant — Women are not so bad after all ! — 
(Aloud.) Humph, child! I cannot help you — I am too 
poor! 

Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered! 

Damas. Hold — you see my friend Morier : Melnotte is 
his most intimate friend — fought in the same fields — slept 
in the same tent. Have you any message to send to Mel- 
notte ] — any word to soften this blow % 

Pauline. He knows Melnotte— he will see him — ^he will 
bear to him my last farewell — (approaches Melnotte)— 
He has a stem air — he turns away from me — he despises 
me ! — Sir, one word, I beseech you. 

Melnotte. Her voice again ! How the old time comes 
o'er me ! 

Damas (to Madame). Don't interrupt him. He is go- 
ing to tell her what a rascal young Melnotte is ; he knows 
him well, I promise you. 

Madame Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Da 
mas ! 



68 THE LADY OF LYONS. 



[Act V. 



4 



[Damas approax^lies Deschappelles ; converses apart 
with him in dumb show. — Deschappelles shows him a pa- 
per, which he inspects, and takes. 

Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak ; my courage 
fails me. 
Sir, is it true that you have known — nay, are you 
The friend of— Mehiotte ? 

Melnotte. Lady, yes ! — Myself 
And Misery know the man ! 

Pauline. And you will see him. 
And you will bear to him — ay — word for word, 
All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, 
Would send, ere still for ever. 

Melnotte. He hath told me 
You have the right to choose from out the world 
A worthier bridegroom ; — he foregoes all claim 
Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on ! 

Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought 
That was not his ; that on his wandering way, 
Daily and nightly, poured a mourner's prayers. 
Tell him ev'n now that I would rathe* share 
His lowliest lot, — walk by his side, an outcast, — 
Work for him, beg with iiim, — live upon the light 
Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown 
The Bourbon lost ! y 

Melnotte (aside). Am I already mad ] 
And does delirium utter such sweet words 
Into a dreamer's ear ] (Aloud.) You love him thus. 
And yet desert him ] 

Pauline. Say, that, if his eye 
Could read this heart, — its struggles, its temptations— 
His love itself would pardon that desertion ! 
Look on that poor old man — he is my father ; 
He stands upon the verge of an abyss ; 
He calls his child to save him ! Shall I shrink 
From him who gave me birth ? withhold my hand. 
And see a parent perish ] Tell him this. 
And say — that we shall meet again in Heaven ! 

Melnotte (aside). The night is past ; joy cometh with 
the morrow. 



Scene II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 59 

(Aloud.) Lady — I — I — what is this riddle 1 what 
The nature of this sacrifice % 

Pauline (pointing to Damas^. Go, ask him ! 

Bcmcseant (from the table). The papers are prepai'ed— 
we only need 
Your hand and seaL 

Mchiotte. Stay, lady — ^oiie word more ! 
Were but your duty with your faith united, 
Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot ] 

'Pauline. Would I % Ah, better death with him I love 
Than all the pomp — which is but as the flowers 
That croAVn the victim ! — (turning away.) I am ready. 
[Melnotte rushes to Damas. 

Damas. There — 
This is the schedule — this the total. 

Beauseant (to Deschappelles, showing notes). These 
Are yours the instant she has signed ; you are 
Still the great House of Lyons ! 

\The Notary is about to hand the Contract to Pauline, 
when Melnotte seizes and tears it. 
Beauseant. Are yo#mad 1 

Mons. Dcschap. How, Sir ! What means this insult ! 
Melnotte. Peace, old man ! 
I have a prior claim. Before the face 
Of man and Heaven I urge it ! I outbid 
Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. 

[ Giving a pocket book. 
There is the sum twice-told ! Blush not to take it : 
There's not a coin that is not bought and hallow'd 
In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood ! 
Beauseant. Torments and death ! 
Pauline. That voice ! Thou art— v 

Melnotte. Thy husband ! 

[Pauline rushes into his arms, 

Melnotte. Look up ! Look up, Pauline ! — for I can bear 
Thine eyes ! The stain is blotted from my name. 
1 have redeemed mine honour. I can call 
On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness ! 
Oh, joy ! Oh, i*apture ! By the midnight watchfires 



60 THE LADY OF LYON«. [Act V. 

Thus have I seen thee ! — thus foretold this hour ! 
And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard 
The beating of thy heart against my own ! 

Beauseant. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the nour 
Of mine own victory ! Curses on ye both ! 
May thorns be planted in the marriage bed ! 
And love grow sour'd and blacken into hate, 
Such as the hate that gnaws me ! [Crosses to l. 

Damax. Curse away ! 
And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb 
The Arabs have, — " Curses are like young chickens, 

[Solemnly. 
And still come home to roost !" 

Beauseant. Their happiness 
Maddens my soul ! I am powerless and revengeless. 

[ To Madame. 
I wish you joy ! Ha, ha! the gardener's son ! [Exit, l. c. 
Damas (to Olavis^. Your friend intends to hang himself! 
Methinks 
You ouiijht to be his travelling companion ! 

Glavis. Sir, you are excctxlingly obliging ! [Exit l. c. 
Paulinr. Oh I • 

My father, you are saved, — and by my husband! 
Ah ! blessed hour ! 

Mcbiottc. Yet you weep still, Pauline ! 

Pauline. But on ihy breast I^Mf^c tears are sv/eet and 

holy ! 
Mom. Desckaj). You have won love and honour, nobly, 
- Sir! 
Take her ; — be hnppy both ! 

Madame Deschap. I'm all astonish'd ! 
Who, then, is Colonel Morier] 
Damas. You behold him I 

Melnotte. Morier no more after this happy day ! 
I would not bear again my father's name 
Till I could deem it spotless ! The hour's come ! 
Heaven smiled on Conscience ! As the soldier rose 
From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame 
That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee ! 

Madame Deschap. A colonel and a hero ! Well, that's 
something ! 



61 

THE LADY OF LYONS. 
SCEWE II'l 

PICTTJBB. " 

Mblnottb. 

Madame D. 
Pauline, MonsburI>- 

Damas. ^ ^ ^. 

». ». c. »• 

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